TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

but limited after all—of that bird? Naturally, one
had asked her to lunch, tea, dinner, finally to stay
with them up at Finlay, which had resulted in
some friction with the Owl, her mother, and more
calling, and more conversation, and more sand,
and really at the end of it, she had told enough lies
about parrots to last her a lifetime (so she had said
to her husband that night, coming back from the
party). However, Minta came. . . . Yes, she
came, Mrs, Ramsay thought, suspecting some
thorn in the tangle of this thought; and dis-
engaging it found it to be this: a woman had once
accused her of " robbing her of her daughter's
affections"; something Mrs. Doyle had said
made her remember that charge again. Wishing
to dominate, wishing to interfere, making people
do what she wished—that was the charge against
her, and she thought it most unjust. How could
she help being " like that " to look at? No one
could accuse her of taking pains to impress. She
was often ashamed of her own shabbiness. Nor
was she domineering, nor was she tyrannical. It
was more true about hospitals and drains and the
dairy. About things like that she did feel pas-
sionately, and would, if she had had the chance,
have liked to take people by the scruff of their
necks and make them see. No hospital on the
whole island. It was a disgrace. Milk delivered
92